


What If We Rewrite The Story?

by nellywrites



Category: Glee
Genre: Christmas AU, M/M, previously unaired christmas, reaction fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-10
Updated: 2013-12-10
Packaged: 2018-01-04 07:28:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,362
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1078230
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nellywrites/pseuds/nellywrites
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Blaine doesn't go to New York to visit Kurt, and runs into Sebastian at a party instead. An AU of season four's Christmas. Could work as a reaction fic to 5.08 'Previously Unaired Christmas', though that wasn't the original intention of the story.</p>
            </blockquote>





	What If We Rewrite The Story?

**Author's Note:**

> I got the idea to write a Seblaine AU for Season 4 Christmas before the Christmas episode aired. Then people on tumblr were clamoring for a seblaine fic set in the same universe as "Previously Unaired", and hence this was born. As always, all kinds of feedback are welcome. You can also find me on tumblr at voices-echo.tumblr.com

It’s red. The kind of red crayons would describe as ‘fire engine.’ Lid propped up, shiny as a mirror, or perhaps a sports car, and just as expensive. It is spotless; not a fingerprint in sight. Or sheet music for that matter. Untouched, perhaps, is the word Blaine searches for. Behind him, in the other room, the party continues. If he can call it a party: businessmen and their wives standing around pointedly _not_ talking about business ( _this is a Christmas party, for God’s sake_ ) and so they fill the silence with vapid conversation instead. Blaine’s dad doesn’t have Ivy League sons to brag about. Blaine wonders if he feels as out of place as Blaine does. He’s the youngest person here, by twenty years, at least.

 

What are they even doing here?

 

He aches to be back home in the comforting darkness of his own room and his own bed. He yearns for a sleep that never comes. But he remembers his mother’s poorly disguised plea _(Why don’t you come to Columbus with us tonight? It’ll be fun_ ). She’s worried. It’s not her fault she doesn’t know why Blaine’s spirits have suddenly plummeted again, seemingly overnight. It’s not like he’s told her. He hasn’t told anyone.

 

The piano, though, the opulent red piano sitting patiently in this grand room, is tempting. Blaine raises his eyes to the ceiling, trying to gauge the acoustics. How much trouble would he be in if he sat down, only for a moment, and played it? He circles the piano, hovers uncertainly around the corner, almost waiting for someone to come scold him. He hesitates for a second before pressing one of the keys. A B flat reverberates.

 

“What are you doing?”

 

Blaine jumps at the voice and turns around, apologies already tumbling from his mouth, before he realizes he recognizes the boy leaning against the ornamental column in front of him.

 

“What are _you_ doing here? God, you scared me.”

 

For a moment, Blaine wonders if he’s imagined him. Where the piano stands out as misplaced, the boy in front of him looks completely at home. The expensive suit looks as a second skin, the alcohol-filled tumbler a natural extension of his arm (even if he is technically too young to drink.)

 

“There’s no need to call me God. Sebastian will do,” the boy says, and he pauses, as if waiting for Blaine to laugh at his joke. Blaine merely gapes at him. Out of all the extravagant Holiday parties. Figures he would end up in the same one as Sebastian. Life always throws them together at the most unexpected times.

 

The confident smile on Sebastian’s face falters for a second, but not to be deterred, he tries again: “As for what I’m doing here, I’m guessing the same thing you are. My father dragged me out. _‘I never get to see you. You never come home on the weekends_ ’.” Sebastian rolls his eyes. “Ask me how much time we’ve actually spent together tonight.”

 

Blaine wants to say something but he’s caught up in the utter strangeness of the moment he’s living right now. _I was supposed to go ice skating tonight_ , Blaine wants to say. But he doesn't.

 

“You look good, Blaine.”

 

“You sound surprised,” Blaine finally speaks. Sebastian has always been forthcoming with his compliments, but something sounds different tonight.

 

“I wanted to call you. After Sectionals. Last time we saw each other it didn’t end so well. I’m sorry about that, by the way.”

 

“Are you?”

 

Sebastian’s expression hardens for a second, empty hand contracting at his side. “Come on, Blaine. Give me the benefit of the doubt.”

 

“I would’ve liked that, I think,” Blaine says, after a beat. It’s an admission, which Sebastian recognizes, if his raised eyebrows and tentative smile are anything to judge by. It stays there, between them, as conspicuous as the red piano in this beige and gold room.

 

“Do yourself and that piano a favor and touch it, will you?”

 

“You mean play it?”

 

“That too.”

 

“Won’t I get in trouble?”

 

Sebastian’s laugh is sincere, but not mocking, and Blaine, wanting to prove him wrong, finally sits down at the bench, leaving enough room for Sebastian to join him. Sebastian pushes himself off the column and joins Blaine on the bench.

 

Blaine flexes his fingers and rotates his wrists before playing a few quick scales. He stops, waits, and when no one comes to throw him out, he lets his hands wander. In the spirit of the season, Blaine beings to play _White Christmas_ , but stops after only a few bars. It feels wrong, somehow. Like it belongs to another place. Maybe even another time. He starts again, plays something completely unrelated, vaguely recalling a conversation from long ago. A line of trivia gathered from the texting sessions Blaine’s still not sure why he kept secret, stowed away for a moment just like this.

 

It takes Sebastian a few bars to catch on, but when he does he gives Blaine one of those rare, unexpected smiles, the kind that make his eyes all but disappear, and something like pride blooms beneath Blaine’s heart.

 

Sebastian sings along:

 

“ _Baby, put on heart shaped sunglasses, cause we’re gonna take a ride. I’m not gonna listen to what the past says, I’ve been waiting up all night_... Are you trying to tell me I’m no good for you, Blaine? Because, _baby, I want you, I want you_.”

 

“You’re never going to give it up, are you?” Blaine says between fits of laughter. The vain part of Blaine preens, and maybe he sits straighter, parts his mouth, just so. Sebastian raises an eyebrow, acknowledging the move.  It’s the lightest Blaine’s felt in days.

  


An hour later they’re still at the piano and Blaine is attempting to teach Sebastian how to play _Jingle Bells_ but Sebastian keeps interrupting the lesson to play the same string of notes over and over:

 

[ _Is that supposed to be Like a Virgin?_

_No, Blaine. It’s Lady Gaga._

_That doesn’t sound like Lady Gaga._

_Of course it does._

_No_.]

 

“This is boring,” Sebastian says and leans in close enough to whisper conspiratorially into Blaine’s ear, “what do you say we ditch this place?”

 

“We can’t just leave.” Blaine whispers back, scandalized, even as a hint of a smile threatens to lift the corners of his mouth.

 

“Of course we can. Why do you think I always bring my own car whenever my father drags me to one of these things?”

 

Blaine doesn’t say anything for a few seconds. He wonders whether his father would be mad if they skipped out. Or if he would understand. He remembers the stiffness with which his father had dressed himself for the event and thinks he would understand.

 

But Sebastian must read his silence as reticence, because he speaks again:

 

“Forget it,” he says. “It’s not like you’d ever do anything like that.”

 

“Like what?”

 

“Like something impulsive.”

 

Blaine tries not to take the offhand remark personally, especially when he knows beyond all doubt Sebastian doesn’t mean anything by it other than to emotionally manipulate Blaine into giving in. And Sebastian can’t possibly know the nerve he’s hit, can’t know about all the nights he’s lain awake, rendered insomniac by his own insecurities. _If only he hadn’t been so ordinary, then maybe…_

 

Sebastian invades Blaine’s space again, nose practically bumping against Blaine’s own.

 

“When was the last time you did something spontaneous and fun?”

 

Blaine can’t answer. He thinks, maybe, stealing the trophy back from The Warblers. Except that’s not quite the fun Sebastian means. Blaine takes comfort in structures, in the knowledge that there are things that will remain constant, as long as he keeps them under control. But he remembers saying something similar once, what feels like a lifetime ago now. Blaine has never been good at lying dormant, in wait for things to magically get better, and he wants to do something, anything to help fill the ever present cavernous feeling inside.

 

“Where would we go? What would we do?”

 

“Whatever you want.”

 

It’s been a long time since he’s heard that line.

 

“Okay,” he whispers.

 

Blaine finds his mom among the glittery crowd and makes his excuses. He calls Sebastian ‘a friend from Dalton’ but doesn’t offer any other details. There is a glint in his mother’s eye, and a ghost of a smirk somewhere there that Blaine only notices because he’s learned how to read even the faintest of gestures. He bites down the denials – _it’s not like that, mom_ —knowing they’ll only end up sounding incriminating, and follows Sebastian out of the house.

 

 

 

||

 

The car stereo comes to life with Lana del Rey and Blaine laughs. Sebastian groans an indignant _shut up_ and attempts to turn it off, but Blaine reaches forward to stop him. He looks down at Sebastian’s wrist gripped between his own fingers. He takes in the contrast of their skin, the hairlessness of Sebastian’s arms against his own, the veins that wriggle beneath that thin layer of skin. It’s the first hand he’s held since… It’s the first hand he’s held in a long time. Blaine presses a thumb to the joint, and feels the flesh glide over bone, easy. He flexes his fingers in a soft squeeze, quick, then relinquishes his hold on the other boy's hand.

 

Sebastian opens his mouth as if to speak, but changes his mind, shakes his head and smiles tightly at Blaine instead. He pulls out of the curb and drives. Blaine looks out the window at the houses extravagantly decorated for the Holidays; like life-sized, sparkling gingerbread houses.

 

"When I was a kid my dad used to drive me and Cooper around the neighborhoods to see the Christmas lights."

 

"We used to do that, too, back in Chicago. Before my dad started working for the DA's office. I always got mad whenever we saw a house with better lights than ours. I was such a little shit."

 

"I took Kurt with me last year. He'd never been."

 

Sebastian hums in acknowledgement but Blaine feels the shift in the atmosphere at the mention of Kurt.

 

“You seeing Hummel this Christmas?” Sebastian says, after a few seconds.

 

Blaine shakes his head but leaves it at that. Sebastian doesn’t press for answers and for that, Blaine is thankful. He doesn't want to talk about it. He doesn't think he's ready for Sebastian's unflinching honesty.

 

They stop at a light and Sebastian looks right, then left.

 

“So, where are we going?”

 

Blaine shrugs.

 

“Just not a bar. Anywhere but a bar, I don’t care how good your fake ID is.”

 

What does Blaine want?  He wants to feel like a teenager, jumpy with nerves because he’s sharing a car with an attractive boy, and they’ve just held hands. Sort of. Wants to remember what it feels like to feel carefree, unladen. Tonight, he doesn’t have the energy to play at being grown up.

 

It took Blaine a long time to feel young. He doesn’t understand why anyone would want to give that up.

 

Sebastian drives around Bexley, aimlessly, until he reaches the main road. He doesn’t say anything, seeming to understand Blaine’s need for silence, but he sings, softly, along to the radio. Blaine watches him from the corner of his eye; all sharp features and boyish charm . Despite Sebastian's affected worldliness and experience, no one embodies the energy and recklessness of youth better than he does.

 

A bright neon sign catches Blaine’s eye. The Drexel Theater is showing _It’s A Wonderful Life_ tonight as part of their Holiday movie series, and Blaine tells Sebastian to stop; he knows what he wants to do.

 

“The movies, Blaine? Out of all possible places, you want to come here?”

 

Blaine nods. “You said whatever I wanted,” he says, petulant, but playful.

 

“I did say that. Ok, then.”

 

 

 

||

 

Blaine makes Sebastian buy him candy from the concession counter. _[Raisinettes, Sebastian. It's not a movie without them._ ] And Sebastian gives in, even if he thinks raisins are vile and doesn’t understand why anyone would ruin chocolate with them.

 

They’re the only ones in the theater when they make their way in; a fact that excites Blaine but makes Sebastian protest.

 

“Not even old people are here, Baine. Please, let me take you to a bar. I can find a lowkey one.”

 

Blaine ignores him and leads Sebastian up to the furthest row in the back. When minutes later people start trickling in, Blaine feels vindicated.

  


Sebastian has never seen the movie and it becomes clear early on that he has no interest in it either, if his scathing commentary is anything to go by. In the screen, George Bailey is learning the full extent of his influence on other people’s lives, and Blaine’s mind wanders around its own what ifs. He stares at Sebastian’s profile and wonders:

 

_What if he’d taken another route the day The Warblers sang Teenage Dream?_

_What if he’d transferred back to Dalton last month?_

_What if he’d never left in the first place?_

 

Would he still be here tonight, sitting next to this boy? What would Sebastian mean to him then? What kind of shared history would exist between them?

 

Blaine twists in his seat, lays a hand over Sebastian’s heart, and noses at the narrow space between Sebastian’s jaw and neck.

 

“What are you doing?” Sebastian asks, amused, and Blaine says, in a voice steady, clear and confident, he says:

 

“I’m going to kiss you now.”

 

Sebastian laughs like he doesn’t believe Blaine, a little too loud and shaky to be considered anything other than nerves and Blaine takes the opportunity to capture Sebastian’s mouth in his, allowing Sebastian’s sharp breath intake to warm him from the inside out and boost his confidence. It only takes a second for Sebastian to angle his body and open his mouth, to better accommodate Blaine. It’s as if they have done this a hundred times before; deceptively easy. Sebastian cradles Blaine’s face between his warm hands and Blaine finally lets go.

 

They make out for the rest of the movie, and don’t resurface until the theater lights slowly undim, lips swollen, jaws sore, Sebastian’s skin slightly irritated by the scrape of Blaine’s incoming stubble. They break apart, still sharing breath. Sebastian blinks, dazed. Suddenly, he laughs, breathless and incredulous. Soon enough Blaine joins him and their glee rises in pitch until a couple sitting a few rows ahead of them turn around and fix them with a nasty look. Sebastian just laughs louder.

 

As they walk out of the theater, Sebastian pins Blaine against an alcove between halls and leans down to kiss Blaine dirtily, with purpose this time. Blaine grips unto the fabric of Sebastian’s shirt, aches to pull him closer, feel the prominent contours of Sebastian’s hipbones knock against his own.

 

“We can’t do this here,” he says.

 

“We could go to my dad’s place. It’s not far.”

 

Blaine nods. Okay, he says, Okay.

 

 

 

||

 

Sebastian’s father isn’t home when they get there, just as Sebastian had predicted. Blaine follows Sebastian all the way up the stairs and into his bedroom. Blaine lingers in the doorway, proverbial butterflies sending his stomach into overdrive. He’s not scared, just anxious with anticipation. _I’m about to walk into a boy’s room for the first time and no one else is home_ , he thinks. There’d been no doubt as to what exactly they were coming to the house for before, but in that moment it is indisputable. Blaine feels giddy with it.

 

The room feels bare despite the shelves and trophies and the books. Blaine watches as Sebastian expertly toes off his shoes, removes his jacket and undoes his cuffs. He sits on the edge of the bed, eyes still on Blaine and begins to undo his shirt buttons. Blaine turns around to examine the trophies (Lacrosse; Soccer; Ballet). He feels bashful, envious of the ease with which Sebastian is handling their impending sexual encounter, even though he’s not a virgin and Sebastian is not the first boy he’s seen naked. Then, of course, he remembers.

 

[ _That whole bashful schoolboy thing? Super hot_.]

 

“What are you doing?” Sebastian asks.

 

 _Getting to know you_ , Blaine thinks but doesn’t say it. That’s not necessary, is it? Sebastian hasn’t been a stranger for a long time.

 

Sprawled on the edge of the bed, legs spread, shirt hanging open, he looks like something someone’s fantasies would conjure. Someone’s fantasies. But are they Blaine’s?

 

The first object of Blaine’s sexual desire-- someone real and not a pop singer or a movie star-- had been a senior who played goalie on the Varsity lacrosse team. His name was Aaron. That season Blaine did not miss a single home game. He sat in the stands, eyes intently fixed on the way Aaron’s arm and thigh muscles contracted, committing it to memory and then taking that visual with him to bed at night. Tame fantasies of a young boy. He’s not that young boy anymore, and knows exactly what to do with this Lacrosse captain waiting for him to buck up and get over his nerves.

 

"Come here," Sebastian says.

 

Blaine walks over to the edge of the bed, tucks his knees in between Sebastian splayed thighs. Sebastian takes Blaine's wrist with two fingers, kisses Blaine's palm then directs Blaine's hand to his fly. It’s tender, sensual and ridiculous all at once. Blaine puts purposeful pressure on his hand to rub against Sebastian’s crotch, cataloguing the minute shifts in Sebastian's face-- the slackening of the jaw, the droop of his eyes.

 

Blaine places a knee on each side of Sebastian, and straddles him. Sebastian’s hands come up to rest against Blaine’s lower back. Blaine counts the freckles dusting across Sebastian’s nose, and kisses him, eyes open, heart open.

 

_I don’t want to pretend._

 

From then on, it’s natural. Sebastian takes Blaine’s clothes off with the ease of someone who’s done this many times before, lays him down across the bed and crawls over him, the smile on his face equal parts exciting and perturbing.

 

He scares Blaine, a little, at first and Blaine doesn’t dare look at him. He lays back with his eyes closed, luxuriating because Sebastian knows all sorts of expert angles, his hands never fumble, going over Blaine’s whole body like he knows it, like he’s known it, discovered it even, gripping the hair off the back of Blaine’s head, twisting his hips just so, as if to say _there_ , self-satisfied smirk on his face every time he wrenches a groan from Blaine’s lips. Blaine parts his eyes slightly, just so, keeping the screen of his lashes low because it is too much to look at Sebastian, his mouth loose and pink and parted, his eyes looking right at him, because he’s right there, he’s not anywhere else.

 

Sebastian closes his eyes, tips his head back and Blaine realizes he’s smiling. Blissed out. _I did that_ , he thinks and surges forward to suck a mark on the column of Sebastian’s throat, blunt nails carving painful half-moons into the skin of Sebastian’s hips, urging him forward, faster, harder. Sebastian leans down to return the favor and Blaine presses his nose against Sebastian’s hair. He’s overwhelmed, surrounded by the scent of Sebastian’s strong cologne. A scent Blaine knows but not this way, not mixed with his own scents, and the scents of this room and their combined sweat. Blaine shivers. He wants to do this over and over and over again, he wants to fuck and get fucked for no other purpose than their mutual physical pleasure, with no connection other than the immediate one. He wants it so much that the words spill out.

 

“We can, Blaine,” Sebastian says, “We don’t have to stop until you want us to. You’re so good, you’re so hot. Jesus, fuck.”

 

Their rhythm falters, Sebastian groans, and up, up, up they climb, until together, they fall.

 

Bodies: sticky with sweat, and spit and lube and come. Sebastian, a dead weight against Blaine's chest.

 

They breathe.

 

And just like they'd done in the back of the movie theater, breathless and incredulous, they laugh.


End file.
